


Diamond among the rough

by Heartandsoul



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choose Your Own Ending, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gay Nick Carraway, If Nick isn't gay explain chapter two, Jay Gatsby Lives, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Nick doesn't let the light blind him, Non Passive Nick Carraway, Obsessive Behavior, One chapter is a song fic, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Rating May Change, Sorry Not Sorry, The mafia may be assholes but not homophobic assholes, or does he?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heartandsoul/pseuds/Heartandsoul
Summary: Jay Gatsby was not jealous, and Meyer Wolfsheim had no son. Are both of these statements even true?Jay Gatsby was confident in his position of Nick Carraway's best friend. Maxton Wolfsheim, however, wants more than that. Nick on the other hand realises that passivity doesn't work when you are the subject. Will Gatsby sort out his feeling before it's too late?Nick must choose: The gangster who brings him life, or the great who had held his heart on first sight.One things for sure, the summer of 1922 will be a hot one.





	1. The New Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Honors English induced fanfic. As I read the book, Nick keeps seeming less and less straight. I was delighted to find other who believed the same. Grammar has never been my forte but I will be trying my best. Comment at the end if you've caught an error you wish fixed or a recommendation to make the story flow better. Or just to say hi, I'd be delighted to talk about the book or movie with you.

Chapter 1: The New Arrival

 

Nick Carraway had entered New York in a hurry. Eager to be rid of the ever watchful eyes of his family, he had abandoned everything he had known for the blinking lights of The Big Apple. As most of his things had belonged to his family, and he had a desire to burn a path of his own, Nick carried only his shoulder bag and a leather suitcase containing his clothes and writing equipment.

He fought his way through the bustling crowd and peered into the gritty skyline. Newsboys hollered on corners, neon Lights shone in front of alleyways leading to speakeasies full of smuggled and bootlegged alcohol, and con men lurked lurked among the crowd using honeyed words to slip bills into their pockets.

Standing seemingly at the center of the pandemonium Nick felt a deep sense of un-belonging. Like if a photo was taken from above the photographer would be able to simply glance at the image and circle the lost country boy in the woven hat with red ink. Nick had always felt uncomfortable in crowds preferring the intimacy of one on one conversations.

In fact, it was this quality that had lead him to the discovery of his personal inclinations. It had been at a Yale party that his roommate had dragged him to that he had found comfort in talking with one of the upperclassmen in the isolation of a slightly hidden common room.

The conversation had start off innocent, but a question he had asked after their trust in each other had been built that had left Nick’s mind and worldview reeling. To think, Nick had later thought, it had all started with our debate over the attractiveness of the up and coming author, Ernest Hemingway. As the poetry they exchanged became more and more sensual, Nick had little qualms when they kissed in a ancient alcove before their midnight walk back to the dorm.

Nick remembered those days fondly. All men’s schools had a way of fostering a certain brand of curiosity among the students, however as many of the student came from important or well off family most of the exploration happened behind closed doors and utter secrecy among the participants. With a jail sentience and public scorn, the then boys knew that the dark was their friend, and that whisper spoken softly in ears rang louder than any freshman’s boisterous love confession to a female staff member or girl from the town.

When he had later joined the army for the great war, he found himself in similar situations until his honorable discharge. The star shaped scar left on his shoulder gave him little grief except before thunderstorms and on June 15th.

A rough shove from a passerby snapped Nick out of his reminiscence. He ducked his head and wove through the crowd, letting his lithe body carry him through the cracks. He arrived at the cab stand and spent a few minute arguing with the driver in order to get a fixed price over the outrageous fees one could get in New York traffic and fast ticking meters. This tip had surprisingly been a suggestion from an old classmate through it had not been offered as a kind suggestion.

“New York would chew up and spit out a bookish twig like you, Carraway.” Tom Buchanan had been found of saying. “The taxi drivers will take your money, the street workers your innocence, and the shadier men your life.”

Tom had not known that Nick’s innocence had long been lost to the winding Yale hallways. But his ill delivered advice had been kept.

Nick clambered his lanky limbs into the taxi and they were off to Long Island. As the grime of the city melted away Nick cracked the window and let the ocean breeze drift towards him. The ocean put his anxious mind to rest. He leaned his head back and let the summer heat pull down his eyelids.

Nick had jolted awake to the slamming of the driver side door. His eyes studied his surroundings finding he enjoyed them. The tall trees surrounding the cottage. The gentle sea breeze winding their way through the summer green branches. The shabby yet cozy two story cottage that laid in overgrown grass and snuggled into a thicket of trees. It felt calm in the quickly darkening night air. Nick heart fluttered when his writer’s eyes captured the flickering of lightning bugs. He looked at the lights around him. The moon on it’s rise, the beginnings of a pale green light visible from across the water…

A gaudy mansion right next door. Wait a minute.

Nick studied his surroundings before concluding that the taxi driver had brought him to the wrong location. Nick wanted an escape from the prejudice of the wealthy, not to live among them. However, after a fifteen minute argument Nick found himself left roadside with his luggage in possession of home on _West Egg_ **.**

Nick soon came to regret his wounding of the taxi drivers navigational pride. Though he had through that he had packed light he soon came to understand that perhaps poetry and journals weighed more than he expected when it was him and not the porter or driver who had to lift it across the uneven ground, up the steps, and into the house. Finding lifting heavy objects in the summer air made him feel levels far past uncomfortable.

Seeing no one around and feeling safe among the birches Nick rid himself of his shirt, then his shoes. He stretch the wariness the ride had brought him away, than began to lug his trunk across the short lawn. When nick reached the porch he was delighted to find a hammock strung between the posts of his porch. Placing the trunk in the safety of the indoor, he remade his way outdoors.

“I’ll just test if it can hold me.” Nick said to no one.

Climbing in Nick stared at night sky marred by tree tops. He would do this. He would find success in the bond business then find new place to live.

‘One surrounded by handsome men and opportunity’ Nick thought then laughed into the darkness.

His eyes drifted shut unknowing of the handsome man next door


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a hypocritical man meets his new neighboor

Chapter 2: The Neighbor

 

 

Jay Gatsby had been notified by a servant of the cab and lone man at the old groundskeeper cottage that had stood a short distance his property. Despite his curiosity, Daisy’s dock light had flickered on across the water and Gatsby found himself wrapped in melancholy and went to pay homage to his muse.  

 

From his seat at the end of the dock he felt the gentle lapping of the waves, the rocking soothed him. It felt nothing like the storm induced rolls and bashing of his seafaring days. He imagined taking Daisy on his new hydroplane. The brisk air would blow her hair away from her face, and she would turn and regard Gatsby with nothing but joy and love shining from her bright eyes.

 

He felt the winds change to blow inward and after awhile stood up to make his way back indoors. The cool wind made his burning desire for Daisy flicker with his insecurities.

 

Noticing the light still on in the cottage across the lawn, Gatsby felt a strange pull of curiosity. Who was this man who lived in a shack among mansions? Why was he here? Was he seeking work?

 

Gatsby’s mind brought forth an image of an older gentleman. A gardener perhaps. He would have sunken yet kind eyes. The kind of man that had stories that wove around your head if only you asked. The kind of man whose actions were slow, yet echoed louder than any young mans voice.

 

Gatsby mused, perhaps he would pay his new neighbor a visit.

 

Having crossed the line of clean cut and wild grass Gatsby approached the warm yellow light. Straightening his tie and smoothing his slacks he approached the cottages open air verandah.

 

Gatsby was shocked to find the front door open, when he peered inside he saw a trunk resting in the middle of the floor but no one was in the room. It was as if the man disappeared like the stories of ghost ships washing ashore with not a soul on board but the kettle still warm.

 

A soft breathy noise carried through the air and snapped Gatsby to attention. A turned slowly looked around until he found the hammock swaying in a moonlit corner. His soft curse filled the air as he stare at the exposed pale body, draped like a roman hero across the netting. Ridiculously long eyelashes casting a shadow across high cheekbones. The breeze playing with a few strands of hair. It was safe to say that all earlier assumptions of the man had been stolen away with Gatsby’s ability to breath.

 

The barrack showers or the drunken stripping at his parties had not prepared Gatsby for the rush of pure emotion running through his veins. The man was young, he appeared to be well out his boyhood but not quite into his prime. His brow was furrowed a Gatsby reached to run his thumb down the man's face in effort to smooth it.

 

A soft snore draw Gatsby’s eyes to the man's lips. His thumb, on its own violation, drifted off its original course to the new destination. It was contact that snapped Gatsby out of his reverence.

 

Gatsby entire face flushed and he was glad for the dark and the man’s unconsciousness. Gatsby felt like he had opened door that would be too hard to close.

 

He stood up to make his escape, but gentle increase of wind made his eyes flicker back to the shirtless man. He already felt cruel for crossing the man’s boundaries in his sleep. Gatsby hoped that ensuring the man’s comfortable rest would allow the universe to forgive his intruding into the man's most vulnerable state.

 

After ducking inside the door frame of the cottage, Gatsby spotted then snatched a worn yet warm throw from atop a worn loveseat.

 

He moved slow so that the man wouldn’t wake and flinched when an old floorboard creaked beneath his Italian leather shoes.

 

The man, however, remained deep in sleep. Though he was now shivering in the growing wind. An errant toss of his head shifted the way the light fell across his face. The young man's lips now fell in the realm of of light still spilling out of the house.

 

Gatsby gulped. This situation had quickly become more and more dangerous. He returned to the man side, this time avoiding the lose board.

 

As he laid the blanket across the slumbering man Gatsby tried to steel himself with memories of Daisy. But every time her lovely voice started to echo through his head it was interrupted by a soft snore.

 

‘Come on Gatsby you old sport,’ he thought to himself. ‘Stop ogling the sleeping man and focus on you true mission. He had worked so hard the status, it was time to get the girl.

 

Tearing his eyes away, Gatsby started across the lawn. He paused where the grass turned from rough to smooth and spared one last glance at the man like shape in the dark. Then, after a minute of trying to discern the man’s features through the dark, he turned his head back, refocusing his sights on the green light in the distance.

 

‘One thing for sure,’ Gatsby thought. The moonlight man was getting an invitation to his next party. Maybe there he could discover if the man's character matched his face. After all it was easy to romanticize the unknown.


	3. The Buchanans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick makes important decisions about a certain jerk in his life.

Chapter 3: The Buchanans

 

 

Good god Daisy talked so much yet said so little. Nick had arrived at the Buchanan’s, listened to Tom’s usual polo offer and intimidation tactics, and sat to hear Daisy’s melodic voice talk circles around him. Nick loved Daisy like a distant cousin: With great caution, but familial politeness.

 

“Nicky… Nick!” Daisy’s protest snapped Nick back to his unfortunate reality.

 

            “I’m sorry Daisy, can you repeat that?”

 

            “I heard you had a fiancé back west, what happened to her?”

 

            Nick almost snorted in front of the Tom Buchanan, the paragon of refined masculinity. Nick parents wished he had a fiancé. To put it plainly, Nick parents feared he rode the stable boys more than the horses.

 

            Nick swallowed the tea he almost spit onto Tom’s imported carpet. “I hate to disappoint Daisy, but I am not one for long distance or marriage.”

 

            Tom’s eyes narrowed while Nick’s glittered with hidden mirth. There was no doubt that he found Nick’s entire existence highly suspicious. However the following staring contest was won by Nick when the shrill ring of a telephone cut through the summer air. Nick eye’s followed Tom’s escape from the room before they settled on Daisy and her friend.

 

            “Nicky, I was thinking of setting you up with Jordan here.”

 

Daisy had said in way of introduction. Nick glanced at the girl. She was tall, visibly but not overly muscled, and he had intelligent eyes. All things Nick liked, but on the wrong medium.

 

           “I’m sure your lovely Jordan, but have come here to become a bond man. I just don’t think I’m currently suited for women.” Nick felt a the corner of his lips twitch upwards when he recognized the knowing smile that had fallen over Jordan’s face and completely missed Daisy’s.

 

“Even so Nicky,” Jordan paused and smiled. “I know a few fun places in the city that I think the both of us would enjoy.”

 

Nick smiled and nodded his assent to their new found camaraderie.

 

“Oh, can I come?” Daisy asked then grinned thinking that Nick was reinstating his earlier statement, not knowing the sheer impossibility of a relationship between the two “Or would you rather be left to go alone?”

 

Nick could hear the wink in Daisy tone. It was time, he decided, to make an escape. He made his excuses and stood to go.

As Nick made his way out he passed Tom in the hall. Nick made for the door but before he could reach it he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder. Nick turned to met Tom narrowed eyes.

 

“I never got you Carraway,” he said while peering at his face. “Most of the football team loved you, yet you only came to our games a handful of times. You had no close friends, but plenty if acquaintances. For someone who had gotten into Yale on scholarship, they never treated you like you like the oddity you were, maybe still are.”

 

“Your interest is noted and stored for later discussion,” Nick responded then attempted to shake of offending appendage.

 

“Mark your calendar, we’re going somewhere Sunday.” Tom released his grip on Nick’s shoulder. “I want you to meet a friend of mine who lives in the city. I think you’ll like her.”

 

Nick turned an searched Tom’s eyes. After assuring himself that Tom was not coming on to him, which was not a situation he would not be willing to entertain himself with. Behind Tom's narrowed eyes he saw the isolation often found men like Tom. Society had a tendency to push all means of emotional support away from like Tom. Sure Tom was a racist cheating asshole, but he was a lonely racist cheating asshole. And most lonely people could use a change for the good. A Nick was going to try his goddamn hardest to be that for him as one else seemed to want the job.

 

Nick nodded. “I’ll take note.” Then he escaped to the cab waiting for him outside.

 

Back home Nick returned to the hammock. Grabbing his notebook he attempted to write his way through his thoughts for the day. Wrapped up in figuring out just how he was going to attempt to befriend his distant cousin’s husband in order to satisfy in inability to leave other people's business alone.

 

As the sun began to sink into the surrounding ocean Nick came to acknowledge just how bright his neighbor’s house was and the seemingly endless stretch of cabs and cars winding their way up the once peaceful street.

 

As distant figures began filtering into the ostentatious yet grand house, Nick noticed a figure approaching the border between the yards. The figure stepped onto the driveway and brightened into the shape of a well dressed servant.

 

“Good evening.” Nick offered the silent man unable to deuce the man’s purpose for entering his humble and slightly shabby realm.

 

The man grunted and offered Nick a very expensive looking envelope. Nick opened it and read.

 

“Dear New Neighbor,

 

            I am having a little party tonight and I would be delighted if you could attend. I have seen you briefly through the window…”

 

‘Only a slight creeper vibe here.’ Nick thought.

 

“…but I couldn’t find time to come and invite you myself. Perhaps we can talk after most of the other guest have left?

 

                                                Hope to see you there,

                                                                                    Jay Gatsby”

 

Looking up to make sure the smartly dressed servant had left, Nick rested his head in his hands and groaned. But, if he had to brave drunken crowds and vast amounts of uncomfortable situations in order meet his mysterious neighbor so be it.

 

Nick flinched at the sound of something shattering in the distance and prayed that he was making the right decision. He ducked inside to find something to wear.

   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching some of the order of the events of the story. Assume that the original party Nick would go to after meeting Myrtle would still happen at a later date, but because Nick was earned Gatsby’s curiosity beforehand he ended up attending a party before the outing with Tom. 
> 
> Shout out to Kira5150 and Kaitlyn Anderson for giving me the motivation to continue to write this story. Next chapter will be up by tomorrow.


	4. The problem involving Nick and parties.

Chapter 4: The problem involving Nick and parties.

 

 

            30 seconds had elapsed and Nick was already regretting his decision. If this party represented the kind of man his neighbor was, he was bumping up the importance of finding somewhere else to live.

 

He had witnessed at least three cases of sexual harassment, what he recognized as a famous opera singer doing what appeared to be a keg stand while a drunken big wig in the stock exchange cheered her on, and worst of all: a drunken barrage of cops still in uniform. So much for the potential to find a hookup in this dangerous crowd. Nick quite enjoyed his shackle free wrists.

 

Nick attempted to asking around in hopes of finding his missing host yet he only succeeded in hearing rumors.

 

“He’s a bootlegger to the bone,” One man said.

 

“I heard that he was a old man way past his prime attempting to find his youth, but actually hates these things. Such a prude.” Exclaimed a woman in a stained flapper dress.

 

“I heard that he found a cash of hidden paintings in the war and made a living selling them off.” Whispered an even more suspicious looking man.

 

Nick retreated to library that was blessedly empty save a man passed out in front of the doorway.

 

Nick attempted to soothe himself by looking for something by Hemingway. He soon found himself relaxing when he found one of his favorite poem; which subtext truly spoke to himself and that upperclassmen so many years ago. Nick’s check flushed through not a drop of alcohol had entered his body and he found a smile creeping across his face. So immersed into his melancholy he didn’t noticed the man until it was to late.

 

“It’s a particularly lovely poem isn’t it? One of my favorites.” A low voice spoke into Nicks ear.

 

Nick swore dropped the book. He wheeled around to find himself caged up against the bookcase. Nick elevated his eyes slightly to find an almost maroon pair searching his own. Nick’s flushed traveled to his ears. The man was too close, smelled too nice for this kind of party, and was, quite frankly, too good at this whole bad boy and a total snack and a half vibe.

 

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Carraway.” The man’s voice dripped down Nick’s spine. “It’s not too often that we get such charming faces at these parties. The names Maxton Wolfsheim, but you can call me Max. I assure you, the pleasures all mine.

 

Nick was struck dumb. He had not come to the party prepared to meet the devil. And man was he a handsome charmer. Nick opened his mouth to reply with some witty retort but found that the only thing he could get past his lips was:

 

“How do you know my Name?” And slightly more breathily, “Who are you?”

 

“My dad manages Gatsby’s property and is his business partner. It was quite a surprise to him when the house that he had forgotten existed gained a tenant. Who you were was quite the dinnertime topic for awhile. I came to find the who had been asking for Gatsby, imagine my surprise to find out it was you.”

 

Nick flushed deeper. “He sent me and invitation. I was trying to find him and greet him as the host.” The phase reminded him of his manners. “You can call me Nick,” Nick’s tongue slipped and he rambled. “Or my full name Nichols, or even Nicky as my cousin Daisy like to call me.” Nick caught himself and his skin began approaching a color like the man’s eyes.

 

‘I know it’s been awhile,’ Nick thought to himself. “but how is it possible that this man is bringing out my inner train wreak.

 

“Out of everyone here Nicky,” The man rolled the nickname around is mouth as if savoring it. He leaned in a braced an arm on the self behind Nick. Nick craned his neck to see the man face as he formed a barrier between them and the rest of the house. “I think you’re the only one who received an invitation, and I don’t blame Mr. Gatsby for doing so.”

 

While Nick was left reeling for another response or a way to continue the conversation, the man suddenly stiffed and took a step back. Seconds later another smartly dressed servant entered the room.

 

“Mr. Wolfsheim, your father is on the phone. He says it’s urgent, something about a problem at a port in Boston.” The servant inclined his head and strode off.

 

Maxton swore and turned to look at the still floundering Nick. “I’ll be seeing you Nicky.” He murmured into a red ear. Nick felt one of the man’s hands slip down to the indent above his hipbone and give a slight squeeze.

 

The man then slipped out of the room and left Nick to himself.

 

‘God, why was he always to nervous around the confident ones.’ The fact that the man had the appeal of a devil was only a bonus. Nick finally indulged his weak knees and let his back slide down the bookshelf and sat for the second time that night with his head in his hands for the second time that night.

 

“I need a drink” Said the man who had been sober since that one close call in the army.

 

It was in the this position that Jay Gatsby would discover the flushed and dazed Nick Carraway.


	5. Hello There Old Sport

Chapter 5: Hello There Old Sport

 

The moonlit man looked noticeably less relaxed the second time Gatsby met him.

 

Gatsby had come to the library to find a oasis from the din of the party. However, as he approached the door he was surprised to find it slam outwards, narrowly missing him. There in the doorway stood a rare sight, Maxton Wolfsheim wearing an almost smile. Gatsby made eye contact and gave an amiable greeting.

 

“Maxton.”

 

Maxton, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at his fathers partner. The smile had left as quickly as it appeared.

 

“Jimmy.” He responded. “How’s it going, Old Sport?” He spat the nickname at me like it tasted foul.

 

“Mr. Wolfsheim, your call…” A voice of a servant echoed from down the hall before freezing once the poor man finally realized the growing weight of the air.

 

Maxton broke eye contact and turned to go. Halfway down the hall he turned his head to speak. “You still interested in that Buchannan girl?” Then under his breath, “Silly little home wreaker.”

 

“Her name is Daisy.” Gatsby started.

 

“And I don’t care.” Came Maxton’s voice, already down the hall and out of sight.

 

Gatsby stared at where the man last stood. Cursing under his breath he stormed toward the hopefully abandoned library’s door. Throwing the door open with all his might, Gatsby felt some satisfaction in the thwack of the door slamming into the wall. He lifted his eyes in hopes of finding an empty room. ~~He found something better.~~

Sitting with his back to a shelf sat a frozen man. The moonlit man. A flushed, frozen moonlight man, who peered at Gatsby in shock from the cracks between his fingers. His hands obstructed Gatsby from viewing the full extent on the pink tinted cheeks. The position however still left the mans red ears on full display.

 

Gatsby’s sudden inhale hung in the still and quiet air.

 

<><><><><><><> 

~~‘Oh no, he’s hot.’~~ Gatsby discovered that he liked his neighbor better in the sunlight.

 

<><><><><><><> 

 

If Maxton was the call of the shadows in a darkened club, the man remained Nick of a Midwest sunrise. ~~He felt like home~~

           

<><><><><><><> 

 

To Gatsby’s dismay his attempt at a smile cause the man to flinch further behind his hands. With Plan A blown out of the water Gatsby tried for conversation.

 

“What are you doing in the library?” Escaped Gatsby before he could think.

 

Plan B failed

 

Remarkably, the words started the man in to a equally fumbled response. With the mans face still buried in his hands, Gatsby managed to string together something about seeking quiet place. The man mentioned something about Hemingway, before something sounding suspiciously like the phase “smile like the sun.” Gatsby, confused and not trusting his hearing waited for the man to stop and look up.

 

Eventually the man did. He lowed his hands, giving a face to the grey eyes.

 

            “I’m the new neighbor,” He finally spoke. He stood and collected himself. “Nick Carraway. I’m looking for a…”

 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitation. “Mr. Jay Gatsby. I’ve asked around and only have heard rumors of the mysterious host.”

 

            Gatsby’s eyes glittered. “Hello Old Sport…” The glimmer vanished. ‘WHO THE HELL CALLS SOMEONE OLD SPORT!’ Gatsby brain screamed. What was he? The mans ailing grandfather? Shit, he was going to have to run with it now.

 

            The man, no, Nick was obvious to Gatsby’s internal throttling of himself seemed concerned over Gatsby’s sudden pause. Nick stared at the man who introduced himself yet failed to answer Nick’s question.

 

            “Are you all right?”

 

            “I’m doing perfect… Old Sport” Gatsby’s smile seemed more like a gritting of teeth. “What have you heard about you mysterious host so far?”

 

 

           “According to the guest at the party, he’s an art thief far past his prime attempting to find the days of his thrilling youth.” Nick recited from his unpleasant encounters with the other guests at the Party. “Do you know where I could find him? I failed rather miserably at it myself.”

 

            Big warm laughter filled the library. Nick stared at the man who appeared similar to his own age laughing and wiping at his eyes.

 

“You’re not as bad at this as you think Old Sport. An art thief? These rumors get wilder everyday.”

 

            Nick gawked at the man laughing his ass off about nicks junior detective work. It was hard to feel offended in the presence of such joy. Nick managed though.

 

“If you are not going to help then I’m going to continue my fruitless search.” Nick walked to the bent over man ready to push past him and leave the suddenly too warm room.

 

           Before Nick could reach him the man straightened and burned his grin into Nick’s eyes. Their faces within a foot of each other.

 

“It seems Old Sport, your sleuthing skills are beyond even you. I’m Jay Gatsby. Welcome to my humble abode.”

 

The sound of firecrackers could be heard in the room, each punctuated with flashes of light, and in the newfound color Gatsby’s smile shone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far I've tried stay relatively close to the plot of the original book, if you spot a mistake or plot hole please let me know. Thank you to everyone who commented and Kudo-ed the story. It was you who gave me the 3 am inspiration to complete this chapter.
> 
> Much love and Happy 2019,
> 
> Heartandsoul


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